Do Not Open
by SSRegallyChamp
Summary: A torn-up letter that undoubtedly contained a secret about the future remained on Emmett Brown's desk. As risky as it was, he couldn't quite bring himself to throw it away. Completed oneshot.


...

Monday, November 28, 1955

...

Dr. Emmett Brown was, by nature, a man of science. Ever since he was a small child, there had been a drive instilled in him-a drive to learn more, to know more, to accomplish more. He had a thirst for knowledge, one that would never fully be sated no matter what he did. There would always be more that could be known, always another mystery of the universe to be revealed.

At age eleven, he had read a Jules Verne book for the first time. From then on, he vowed to devote his life to uncovering those little mysteries of the universe.

He knew there were boundaries, though. There were things in the universe that were better off forever hidden to man. Unspoken, but important nonetheless, limits were respected by him when it came to his profession.

The sciences were almost addicting in that fashion, he supposed. That same desire to learn that could help so many could have serious consequences if taken too far. If man knew too much and possessed too much power over things far beyond their control, who knew what would happen?

The forces of space and time were an example of something that was not to be tampered with. After all, no man should know too much about their own destiny.

It didn't keep him from wondering what the future held in store, though. What sorts of things would mankind accomplish in his lifetime? What new things would be learned? And on a more personal note, what would become of him in particular?

He would have found all those answers out through the natural course of time. At least, he was supposed to. The interference of a time machine-built by himself, no less-and the boy inside it had changed all that.

Although he hadn't learned much about the future, he had been told just enough to fuel his curiosity more. He knew that an actor would become President of the United States. He knew that radiation suits would become a necessary item of clothing because of the fallout from the atomic wars. He knew that people would carry portable television sets and play music through small boxes attached to headphones-apparently, technology would advance significantly by 1985.

Most importantly, he knew that he would someday befriend a young boy named Marty McFly who would be sent back to 1955 in a time machine made by none other than Emmett himself, and that the machine would also cause him to become trapped in the Old West after his future self's and Marty's second trip to 1955.

All that information didn't add up to much, though. He had only received vague details of what was to come. It was just enough to pique his curiosity, to tease him, to tantalize him. It had kept him up at night, as his mind attempted to fill in the gaping holes and answer the questions of that one fateful week. Having so little knowledge about the future was worse than having none at all. It had only left him wanting to know more.

The future was exciting, and frightening, and above all, fascinating. It was worthy of all the impatience and anticipation that Emmett had regarded it with. The year 1985 couldn't arrive quickly enough for him.

It had been hard, resisting the urge to bombard Marty with questions during his stay in the mansion to figure out even more about the future. He'd wanted to know so much-like how they met, why he chose to be friends with him, and how the time machine worked. It had been a struggle to have a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue and not have been able to ask any of them, instead keeping them bottled inside until he felt like he was going to explode.

He had done the right thing, though, and had not pried for any further information. The less he knew, the better off things would be.

Besides, it wasn't like he'd be able to ask the boy anything anymore. He was gone. There was no visit or telephone call in the world that would bring him back-he simply didn't exist anymore, having been returned safely to his proper era. Hell, he wouldn't even be born for another thirteen years.

Though Marty was gone, having never really belonged there in the first place, he had left something behind. A letter. Or, to be more accurate, the torn-up pieces of a letter. Tiny bits of paper that, had Emmett been more sensible, should have been thrown into the fire the minute he had first laid eyes on them.

But, for whatever reason, they had not been burned. Instead, they remained scattered across his already messy desk in the mansion's study, bathed in a golden glow from the lamp installed above the piles of dusty paperwork, pens, and pencils.

Maybe Emmett let them remain there because of sheer curiosity. Maybe it was because the letter was undeniable proof that the experience was more than a simple hallucination induced by hitting his head on a sink. Maybe it was because he just missed Marty already. The letter was the only trace left of him, after all. Just the note and his memories.

For whatever reason, the torn-up letter that undoubtedly contained yet another secret about the future remained on his desk. He couldn't bring himself to read it, because of the risks and dangers it could pose. He couldn't throw it out, either, because he genuinely wanted to know what was inside. The desire to know what the letter contained and the knowledge that doing so could cause an even bigger disruption to the fabric of time fought with one another, with neither side emerging on top.

The urge to read the letter had been strong ever since the first night after Marty had left, when he had removed the pieces from his pocket and moved them to the desk in the first place. It had grown ever since.

Every time he happened to pass by the desk, he would want nothing more than to go and tape it back together. Every time, he would force himself to put the paper down and remind himself that whatever was in the letter would be found out by the natural course of time. It grew harder every time to put the paper back down and continue with business as usual.

On one November evening, the desire to know won out. Something inside him finally snapped, and his own curiosity and impatience got the better of him. He knew it was wrong, and he knew the risks it entailed. But somehow, he continued anyway, unable to stop.

He sat down in the desk chair, successfully finding a roll of tape underneath an old blueprint after only a few seconds of searching, and put the letter back together. With long and nimble fingers, he pieced it back into something resembling its original state, and taped it together.

He knew that there was still a chance to stop and throw it out before he discovered what it had to say. He ignored that fact, and began to examine the paper anyway.

What the hell, he figured.

_Dear Dr. Brown,_

_On the night that I go back in time at 1:30 AM, you will be shot by terrorists._

_Please take whatever precautions are necessary to prevent this terrible disaster._

_Your friend,_

_Marty._

The hastily scribbled words burned into Emmett's mind instantly-even when he blinked in surprise, he could still see the letter in his head just as clearly as if his eyes were open.

"Great Scott," he half-whispered aloud to nobody in particular. The letter slipped out of his hand, falling gently to the floor below. Barely registering it and letting the letter remain on there, his jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide as saucers.

He was going to be shot. By terrorists. He was going to die.

Well, of course he was going to die. Everyone does at some point. But knowing that one day you'd pass away was a different story than knowing all the exact whens and hows and whys of the event.

Suddenly, his previous elation over living to see 1985 didn't seem to matter as much.

It all made sense now, he thought. His future self's terrified expression on the portable television set as he yelled to make a run for it, Marty's repeated attempts to tell him something that Emmett wouldn't listen to, the pained glances sent his way-that one letter had explained so many of the little things that gave him pause over the week-and-a-half when he resided at the mansion.

In Marty's mind, his trip to 1955 was probably the last time he would ever see his friend. He had probably just watched Emmett be killed by the terrorists, seen him lying on the ground with blood seeping onto the cold pavement, the sounds of gunshots still ringing in his ears, and...

_No_, he reminded himself. _You mustn't think that way._

He couldn't die. He couldn't die on the very same night when his future greatest invention was finally completed. There were so many other times and places he'd wanted to see, and so many things he'd wanted to do.

And what of Marty himself?

"No," he said. He couldn't disappoint the teen like that, not after all the trouble the scientist had (would?) caused for him with the machine. He couldn't do that to someone who would one day call him a close friend. It was risky, but he was going to do everything in his power to prevent the incident from happening.

He paced back and forth, thinking out loud to himself. "I could possibly wear a protection of some kind against the bullets, or...avoid interfering in terrorist matters altogether..."

Stopping and bending down to pick up the newly taped-together letter, he glanced at it one last time. Any possible speck of annoyance he'd felt towards the boy's irresponsibility and disregard towards his wishes were replaced by an overwhelming gratitude towards the "future boy" for everything he'd done. Marty had given him a sense of hope, and the knowledge that one day he would make something of himself by inventing something that worked. And most importantly of all, he would save his life at least once-possibly twice if his trip to the Old West was concerned.

As he folded the letter back up and placed it inside his desk drawer, he made the decision to hold onto it and follow its instructions to the letter.

One day, he'll have the chance to show Marty the note. Maybe then he'll get the chance to tell the boy what he had done for Emmett, as he had probably done much more than he realized.

But that day was decades away.

It was going to be difficult having to wait thirty years to properly express his gratitude.

But for now, he settled for silently thanking the time traveller from the future.

At the time, it was all he could do.


End file.
